Blue thigh of daybreak, sweetened, fall apart —
my fourteenth year: a drop of oil on his thigh.
I know that room like the back of my heart,
aquarium blue: subcutaneous: a lambent sigh . . .
September: sleeve of drowsy hornets: the fallen pear glutted with blood:
I did not warm myself over that heat.
One man's soft spot is another man's temple.
Fifteen, sixteen, I'm silver-tongued — "Ssshhh . . . they'll hear."
And swallowing his white hair in headlight, simple,
one man's juiced footprints are my rotting pear.
Gallowgrass, nodding off outside in the wind — Michael, I said —
face of wept meat —
A taper, dripping tallow on my gut.
A swallow's feather curling into smoke,
and breath — for we are the very food of light —
a fingery gaze, a breeze that scalds the lake.
And your flesh? The tiny bloodrose where his lips withdrew.
And your kiss?
A dolphin's back that lifts me in a dive:
I fall into that softening and live.